


The Zippity Do-Dah Affair

by Alys (wickedwords)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Cunning Plan, Early Work, Idyll gone wrong, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1989-06-28
Updated: 1989-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Alys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Virgin sacrifice at dawn'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Zippity Do-Dah Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine "Exposures" in 1989. It's not the first story I had published, but it's close.

It was supposed to have been a vacation.

"You are both to take two weeks off, starting immediately," Waverly had said. "We have a safe-house in Maine you can use. It's rather agreeable this time of year, what with fall just starting. I'm sure the two of you will enjoy it." He hadn't even bothered to dismiss them, immediately turning back to read his report.

Napoleon had to admit it had sounded nice. Get away from the city, do a little fishing, some hiking, rough it a bit, all without getting shot at. But the devil appears in threes, or so his grandmother said. First there was the turbulent, cramped flight up here, making him so sick he couldn't drive. Second had been that accident with the deer. Third...

"This looks bad." Illya's whisper jerked him back to the present.

"That's an understatement." Napoleon tried shifting his position but couldn't. "You know, I never realized how cold Maine is. I'm freezing."

"Try Siberia."

Illya had an answer for everything.

Napoleon tried to think when he had been in similar circumstances. THRUSH usually didn't bother to strip them before tying them up. The bonfire blazed up, and he was able to catch a glimpse of their captors. Firelight danced across her sharp features as the priestess circled them, but he couldn't move enough to keep track of her in the dim light. The stone altar beneath him felt like a solid sheet of ice as the chanting built to a crescendo. She thrust her arm into the air, creating instant silence among her seventy-plus followers.

Her black robes glided down her arms as she raised a long, serpentine knife over her head. She swayed slowly out into the crowd speaking in a forceful voice that seemed to echo in the near-darkness.

"Two strangers have trespassed onto our sacred grounds. They shall learn what it means to interfere." Napoleon watched her lips curve into a cruel smile. "They are to have the honor of participating in our rites."

The crowd roared their approval, sending an icy shiver ran down Napoleon's spine.

She gestured and the chanting started again. Bells shook and drums pounded as the black-covered forms began to weave in and around each other, intent on the ritual they were performing.

Napoleon was trying to untie his ropes, to little effect. He could Illya's movements pressed against his back. "Any luck?" he asked softly.

There was a moment's silence. "No. You?"

"No."

"I don't suppose you have a clever plan, do you?" Illya asked.

"Of course." He could practically feel Illya's expectation. "Lie back and think of England."

It wasn't a funny joke, and Illya's pained silence supported that fact.

"But we are generous!" The priestess shouted, drawing Napoleon's attention. She smiled wickedly and laid the knife down at her feet. "You shall feel no pain from our trials." Cow-bells and drums rang as two young girls in scarlet robes brought forth matching goblets filled with a milky-white liquid.

Napoleon shrugged, and drank.

*****

Illya squinted into the morning sun, trying to remember what had happened. Realization filtered into his brain. Napoleon! He was instantly on his feet, assessing the situation. He was in a forest, a sea of pine trees and underbrush, with no sign of a road nearby. Morning sounds filled the air, and in the distance he could hear a waterfall. Soon, a human groan joined the cacophony.

Triangulation brought him to his partner. Illya bent down and assessed the damage. Cuts and abrasions, mostly. No sign of any major injury. He stroked Napoleon's arm gently. "Are you all right?"

Napoleon's eyes fluttered with returning consciousness, and a slight smile appeared on the chapped lips. "Was it good for you?" he muttered.

Illya blushed. "Oh. Well, it could have been better."

Napoleon groaned as rolled onto his side. "Uhmm, the stone was a little cold."

"Not to mention hard."

Napoleon's grin was unrepentant. "I kind of liked that part."

Illya snorted. "You would." He hauled Napoleon to his feet. "Though how you came up with the idea..." He shook his head. Trust Napoleon to the think of something like that.

"Have you ever heard of Brer Rabbit?"

The name was vaguely familiar. He thought he'd seen it on a movie marquee in passing. "Isn't there a movie about that? Song of the South?" He didn't think he could feel more confused.

"It was a book first." Napoleon scanned the area distractedly. "I think our clothing is over there." He nodded toward the trees off to their right. "If our communicators are still working, we might be able to find out where in this god-forsaken country you crashed the car." He suited action to words and tried to stand.

"Napoleon!" Illya hauled him back down to the ground; Napoleon winced as his ass hit the dirt. "You will explain to me what a rabbit has to do with what happened last night."

Napoleon's gazed was infuriatingly tolerant, but not quite condescending. "Brer rabbit said 'Don't throw me into the briar patch'. So I borrowed his idea."

"But in front of seventy people?" Illya could feel his lips twitch.

Napoleon shrugged. "Why not?" He walked over to where he spotted their clothing, and rummaged through it. "Ah-Hah!" A silver cylinder appeared in his hands. He waved it at Illya. "Next time, I drive."

"Next time, we don't go to Maine."

"Deal." Napoleon's brown eyes glittered in the morning light. "How about sailing the Caribbean? It's warm, no deer to worry about, and what could go wrong?"

"I believe the phrase is 'Don't press your luck.'"


End file.
